


The Past

by TheAndorianMiningConsortium



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 16:01:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2197965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAndorianMiningConsortium/pseuds/TheAndorianMiningConsortium





	The Past

In this chamber, the walls were flat and grey and looked more like the barriers of a cage than they did the walls of somebody's living chamber. And in this chamber, the bed was always cold.

In this chamber, Shran tried to live, and to feel like he was still himself, and sometimes, he succeeded. But hell, hunched on the bed over a bottle of ale looking at pictures of the homeworld... it was a far cry from life as it had been. Sometimes he could drink enough to thoroughly knock himself out and let it all fall away in a bleak cloud of nothingness, but that was a far cry from living, too.

His mind drifted back, as if he were riding the waves of his own memories. Fifteen years ago. Strolling onto the bridge of the _Kumari_ for the very first time. He was a younger man, freshly promoted to commander rank, and ready to take control. He paced the bridge, familiarised himself with the crew...

The tactical officer caught his eye from the moment he first saw her. Tall, sturdy, an uncommonly long wave of hair framing a face that was both beautiful and fierce, a stature that brooked no nonsense of any kind. He ignored her, resolving to treat her no differently from any other officer, and when he greeted each in person for the very first time, he greeted them all in exactly the same way. Their names were stated, a curt nod of acknowledgement, and then to business. Talas was _her_ name. Not that he was any more interested in her than anyone else... nope...

Ten years ago. Already the _Kumari_ had made a firm name for itself; the first warp 5 battle cruiser, the first ship of its class. They'd been at the head of a great many battles and they stood strong and brought hope to their people.

One evening Shran sat with Lieutenant Tholos in the private dining room and they discussed the differences between their two lives. Firm friends they had become, for some reason that Shran would be hard pressed to explain, and as much as Tholos had come to respect his commander, so had Shran come to value his counsel.

“You know what I'd like to do,” Tholos slurred as they polished off their second bottle of ale and opened up a third. “I'd like to fuck a Vulcan. That is what I'd like to do.”

“You couldn't keep your private parts inside your pants where they belong even if somebody paid you,” Shran replied bluntly, but he couldn't help cracking a sardonic smile. He couldn't really understand Tholos' point of view, but it _did_ amuse him.

“What about _you?”_ Tholos countered. “You couldn't get yours _out_ of your pants if somebody paid you.” He necked his glass, and poured himself another, leaning over the table as his eyes drifted in and out of focus. “You know what, Thy'lek... Commander... let me draw your attention our tactical officer...”

Instantly Shran's face hardened, and he gave Tholos a look that would have silenced him in a second, had be been sober. However, he wasn't, and so on Tholos sailed.

“She's rather attractive, isn't she?”

“Physical attraction isn't of great importance,” Shran replied, finding himself being drawn into the discussion despite his better judgement. As if to help ground himself, he poured another glass and downed it. Of course, this did the opposite of _help_.

“True,” said Tholos. “That _is_ true, for _you._ Not for _me._ Didn't you ever think of getting involved with somebody?”

“Not on this ship,” Shran replied, dismissing it immediately, before he could even give his mind half a chance to consider it. He wouldn't have admitted it aloud, regardless of how much alcohol was swimming around his system... but in truth, he was afraid of what ideas he might come up with if he allowed his mind to wander for more than a millionth of a second.

“Well,” drawled Tholos, pouring himself another glass. “She has a lovely pair of--”

And then there was an almighty crash, and suddenly Tholos found himself on the floor, beneath the suddenly overturned table. He felt the blood trickling down his arm, and realised that the bottle had fallen and smashed against his skin. Apparently, he was going to be picking bits of glass out of his skin for the next few days, now.

He hissed, grit his teeth against the pain, and smirked. “I was going to say _torpedo launchers,_ ” he said. “The _Kumari_ 's torpedo launchers are always kept in peak condition.”

Five years ago. Tarah and her followers had been ejected from the Imperial Guard and everyone was on edge. Shran could feel the tenseness in the air, in the corridors, on the bridge. It was everywhere, hanging over the crew like a great black cloud, a sense of miserable dread. Constricting.

Lieutenant Talas came to the ready room to submit her report. Shran was miserable, but when he glanced up and saw her face, he saw with a glimmer of surprise that her lipstick looked especially blue and glittery, her green eyes were glowing, and she had done something to her hair that made it look like it had been touched by some benevolent angel of beauty. He frowned at himself. Even in his private thoughts, he failed at poetry, completely and utterly.

He allowed himself to glance at her once, observing that beauty for a split second, then made a firm decision as to what he would do about it. He was going to ignore it.

Yes, that was the best plan of action.

“Commander,” said Talas. Her voice was quiet and yet firm and solid and full of gravity as she delivered her morning report, reeling off the list of who had done what and what was going to be done next, and Shran listened. Focusing on every boring little detail like his life depended on it, and avoiding the eyes that he knew were bearing into him. They felt like daggers, but there would be nothing unpleasant about being sliced by such a blade...

Talas was like a breath of fresh air and _that_ was why he noticed her beauty, try as he might not to. It was merely what lay upon the surface of a personality that encompassed everything he would have wished for, had he the liberty of simply reaching out to hold it; he would have seen that beauty anyway, even if she had been physically ugly. Her honesty, her unbuttered words and her stoic firm countenance. It was exactly the kind of flat brutality that he liked, saw as decent and perfect, cutting through the confusing hubbub of mistrust that hung amongst every other officer and laying waste to it all. The sourness of recent events, the bitterness of dismissing Tarah, sending her off to the prison and rifling through the crew reports to ascertain who else might or might not have been working with her... it had all had its effect on Shran, these past few days, it had taken its toll. He felt the pressure and the strain. But when he eventually glanced up and his eyes fell, for just half an instant, onto Talas' lips, his troubles seemed to ebb away.

And were replaced with new ones. Suddenly he didn't want her here anymore- or rather, he _did,_ and _that_ was the problem. She distracted him even though she wasn't trying to, and his lack of self control- if only in his thoughts, not commented on or acted on- irritated him. Confounded him.

It was par for the course with her. He treated every officer just the same, but when it came to Talas, for some reason his resolve escaped him... he had to put an extra effort into conforming to his own rule.

But Talas was like that. When something happened, she dealt with it, and put it to the side, to continue her work as though nothing had happened, and now she would deal with the loss of her friend in her own, private, unobstructive way...   
  
...Or maybe it wasn't her at all. Maybe a part of _him_ was looking for something – some _one_ – that he could trust. Maybe _that_ was why she looked more radiant than usual today. He forced himself to look at her again, to observe that she looked no different to usual, and he met her eyes.

“Good work, Lieutenant,” he said quietly. “Dismissed.”

Four years ago, and in the aftermath of the wave of destruction which had burst forth from the Xindi prototype, the _Kumari_ limped home on impulse engines. The Bridge was a mess – bits of the bulkheads burnt off here and there, bits of equipment littering the floor. Shran picked his way across it. He was in a foul mood.

“I want the shields up and running within one hour,” he demanded. It was the only thing on his mind right now. “As for weapons,” he turned to Talas. “Get them back online.”

“Within the hour?” she queried.

“Yes,” Shran snapped. “Within the hour. Get it done.”

“The damage is extensive. It can't be done that quickly.”

“Then find a way, lieutenant,” he had insisted. “Because we are a target sitting out here in open space-”

“You expect your crew to change the laws of physics at your whim,” she replied, stepping toward him. A look of anger on her face, her posture tense, a blaze of fury in those eyes.

“I told you to get to work.”

“And I told _you_ that it can't be done. You have to compromise, Commander-”

Shran did not enjoy being undermined, and especially not in front of the rest of the Bridge crew. “You are out of line,” he stated simply, and stepped forward to meet her, placed a hand on her arm and held it tight, intending to drag her down to the armoury if he must.

Immediately Talas shot out her fist, and before Shran had a chance to react, it connected with his temple, and he found himself slammed against the wall. A silence prevailed on the bridge and everyone else looked pointedly away. He opened his eyes and sucked in a breath. He grabbed her by the wrist, and saw his startled surprise mirrored in her own eyes. She hadn't intended to hit him any more than he had expected to be hit, and now there was going to be a price to pay. She'd just committed a form of gross misconduct, and he ought to arrest her and hall that slender ass of hers to the nearest prison cell. A thousand responses raced through his head, all of them devising different ways to punch Talas back and cow her into submission, put her back in her place...

He was even more surprised when in the next moment, he found his lips pressed against hers, and all sense of caution, from that moment, was forever thrown right into the wind.

Three years ago. The bedroom was warm and enveloping and had that certain kind of quality about it that made one reluctant to get up at all. Shran awoke slowly, blinking blearily... to find Talas staring at him from the other side of the bed. A thin little smile of amusement playing about her mouth. He grabbed something off the bedside table and threw it at her.

She laughed and gave him a sharp knee in the ribs. “You know,” she said, voice rich with that kind of charm that simultaneously made him want to kiss her and punch her, “when you're asleep... well, that's the only time when you actually look a little bit happy.” She smiled and then her tone took on a mocking, goading quality. “What were you dreaming about?”

“Fire and death and dismembered heads,” Shran lied. _Sex_ , Talas thought. She gave him another knee in the side. _Why dream about it, when you can do?_

“It's too early in the morning for personal violence,” he muttered, rolling over and burying his head in the pillow.

“That's not what you said last week,” she reminded him, leaning forward and flicking one of his antenna with her fingertips.

“Bleugh,” replied Shran, but nevertheless, one arm slunk out and crept around her waist, gently but lazily pulling her closer. “Get me some _katheka._ ”

“Is that an order?”

“No,” he replied. “I mean, _yes._ Lieutenant. Get it. Now.”

It was time for a third attack on his ribcage. Talas could tell when his orders were serious and when they weren't. Shran responded by making a pathetic, doglike whine, then suddenly, he found a little burst of physical strength from somewhere, and in one sharp move he both heaved himself up and pushed her off the bed.

Suddenly Talas found herself landing on her ass and sprawling ridiculously on the floor. She laughed, and picked herself up.

“Fine,” she said. “I'll get some.” Without bothering to get dressed first, she went over to the replicator and ordered the drink, and Shran watched with a sleepy kind of fascination. They might have seen each other naked a hundred times already, but the sight of her bare figure never got boring to him.

She returned to the bed a moment later, setting two mugs down on the cabinet beside them before seating herself lazily across the duvet and placing both her legs in his lap. His hand fell automatically on her knee, stayed there for a moment and then began to travel gently upwards, as though of its own accord. Neither of them was supposed to be on duty for another two hours. _They had time to kill._

That was when the red alert signal began blearing. They exchanged glances, then at once they leapt up. Then everything else forgotten, as swiftly they reached for their clothing and dressed, before racing out, toward the bridge.

_Good thing that Tholos isn't here_ , thought Shran as they entered together, both with telltale tangled hair and Talas with her make up still smeared from the night before. His first officer was away for the time being, and for once Shran was relieved. When in red alert status... he could do without sly suggestive little knowing glances, that said without words, _hey, hey, I know what you've been up to. Didn't I tell you so?_

“Report!” yelled Shran, still in the process of adjusting his jacket. Talas took her station behind the tactical console, and spared half a moment to zip up her own uniform.

“The Tellarite ship is charging weapons,” said the ops officer. “They're targeting the Ambassador's ship.”

“Raise shields! Move to intercept!”

“We can't—” there was a pause, during which they all felt the rumble. “The Ambassador's ship has been destroyed!”

He hadn't known at the time that that would be the last day. The very last morning where he would ever be - as Talas had worded it - “a little bit happy”.

Present day. Shran sighed and peered into his drink, and then he downed it. He drank himself into a stupor, and then he slept alone.


End file.
